Temporal Reprieve
by Jaylie12
Summary: Steve is unsure, Blaine isn't. Angsty fluff (or fluffy angst). Sequel to Temporal Exigency. Staine.


Title: Temporal Reprieve  
Summary: Steve is unsure, Blaine isn't. Angsty fluff (or fluffy angst). Sequel to Temporal Exigency.  
Rating: R/M  
Category: Glee, Avengers. Staine.  
Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N: You get the whole thing in one shot, because I didn't want to break up the story in any way. This is an edited version, to exclude the smuttier bits. The full NC-17/MA version can be found on my tumblr (jaylie12). And this also turned into quite a lengthy piece, because the Steve angst apparently knows no bounds. But also, I couldn't help the little moments of domesticity and care these two must exhibit in spades. Or throwing in a song or two.

...

"We're running off good old-fashioned electricity for the time being," Bruce said.

"And the clean-up?" Steve asked.

"Fury's coordinating with the National Guard. Clint and Natasha are helping. Crews in the tower are fixing the rest of the elevators and reconstructing the stairs. Most of the windows have already been replaced."

"I should get down there."

"You should stay here," Bruce countered, moving toward the dining table. Steve followed.

"Doctor, I go where I'm needed."

"You're needed here," Bruce said, looking up from where he was setting the bag of take-out and his kit on the table.

"Blaine's not going to need me," Steve said quietly, eyes focused on table. "He's not going to want me now that he knows the truth."

"Steve," Bruce prefaced. Steve gripped the back of a chair and ignored Bruce's gaze. He continued after a beat, "You love him."

Steve looked up, tension etched in his features. And still, his answer was clear on his face.

"Then be what he needs," Bruce said simply.

"He doesn't need me," Steve repeated angrily. "He doesn't need someone who runs off and fights aliens, who lets him get hurt, who can't protect him."

"From what I heard and saw, he can take care of himself," Bruce pointed out.

"He plays music, doc," Steve continued, pushing away from the chair. "He lives music. How's he supposed to do that now?"

"His burns, the broken bones-they will heal," Bruce said kindly, patiently.

"But that's not all that got hurt," Steve protested sadly. "You didn't see him this morning."

"I didn't," Bruce acknowledged, "but that's all the more reason for you to be here."

"I'm not like you, Doctor. Take away the Hulk and you're still a brilliant scientist. Same with Stark. Clint? Natasha? Their skills are their own, not fabricated. I'm nothing without the serum."

"The serum may have provided the brawn, but you already had the brains and heart." Bruce laid a reassuring hand on Steve's shoulder. "Blaine didn't fall in love with Captain America, he fell in love with you."

...

Blaine woke slowly, dim light slipping past his eyelids as awareness returned. His body protested, muscles sore and limbs heavy. His fingers ached, the skin feeling tight and pricking with pain as he flexed them. When cool softness, rather than Steve's warmth, reached his senses, Blaine opened his eyes. He had to blink away the dull blurriness before his bandaged hand came into view, fingers resting curled around a rolled up cloth. Blaine lifted his head from the pillow, confused, and looked around. He gingerly picked up the cloth, letting it fall open, and recognized one of Steve's cotton undershirts. Blaine smiled fondly, his lips twitching amusedly when he realized his other hand also lay atop a rolled up t-shirt. He rolled over, sighing.

Quiet voices had the smile fading and his breath catching. Most of the words eluded him, but Steve's tortured tone could not. Blaine ignored the pain as he sat up, ignored the sharp pang in his hands as he pushed off the bed and went in search of clothing.

Blaine slid out of the bedroom, gently smoothing the plaid shirt and thankful it covered enough when his eyes fell on his bags still lying on the floor by the table. But his attention quickly fell to Steve sitting hunched, elbows propped on the table, and head hanging. Bruce stood next to him, a comforting hand on his forearm.

"Hello, Doctor Banner," Blaine said quietly, stepping closer. Steve straightened, the anguish on his face disappearing the instant his eyes fell on Blaine's. But in another instant, Steve's eyes faltered and he looked away. Blaine bit his lip, stifling his anxiety. Bruce offered a smile.

"Call me Bruce, please. How are you feeling?"

"Sore, but okay," Blaine answered truthfully.

"I told Dr. Warren I'd make a house call." Bruce tapped the medical kit on the table. Blaine sat on Bruce's other side, gaze flickering to Steve's still downcast eyes. "And I thought you could use some dinner."

"Thanks," Blaine said sincerely. Bruce nodded, and then gestured to Blaine's hands. Blaine set them on the table, palms up, allowing Bruce to unwrap them and examine his burns. He winced when Bruce nudged his broken fingers, noticing the flicker of worry in Steve's eyes before they returned to the table.

"Sorry," Bruce murmured, attention focused on cleaning the charred skin and reapplying the antibiotic ointment.

The three men were quiet as he worked, Blaine's eyes steady on Steve's face despite the other man's refusal to meet his gaze. When Bruce finished his treatment, he replaced the medical equipment in the case and clicked it shut.

"Dr. Warren's going to want to see you one more time before she lets you loose."

Blaine nodded.

"Eat. Drink something. You're still dehydrated. You been taking your pain pills?"

"He had them at noon," Steve spoke up before Blaine could answer. Their eyes met briefly, Blaine's startled and Steve's fleeting.

"Good. Take them again before you go to sleep, okay?"

"I will," Blaine promised. Bruce stood, the other two men following suit.

"Like two peas in a pod," Bruce muttered amusedly with a shake of his head. Blaine managed a small, pleased smile. Steve followed Bruce to the door, quietly thanked him, and said goodbye.

"We should eat," Steve said as he returned to the table and unpacked the take-out boxes. Blaine slid back into his seat, silently watching Steve open each box and peer at its contents before setting it on the table. Steve tore apart the wooden chopsticks and set them on napkins before sliding them in front of Blaine, his eyes never leaving his task. Blaine reached out, grazing his bandaged fingers across Steve's knuckles as he retreated. Steve paused and looked up.

"I don't remember that," Blaine said, "taking the pills."

Steve swallowed before explaining, "You were restless and I couldn't-. You were tired."

"Thank you."

The tension on Steve's expression lessened, and he sat, pointing his chopsticks at the box in front of Blaine.

"Eat," he ordered gently. Blaine did as told, the smell of Chinese food igniting his hunger, and picked up his chopsticks, flinching at the pain. He ate slowly, careful to hold his utensils as delicately as possible. So focused on his task, he did not notice Steve watching him.

"Blaine," Steve said after several quiet moments, arm extended.

"Hmm?" Blaine asked, even though he was already reaching for Steve. Steve grasped Blaine's wrist, tugging him off the chair and into his lap. He set Blaine's hands in his lap and reached across the table to pull all the food closer.

When Blaine realized what Steve was doing, he said petulantly, "I'm not a child."

"I know," Steve replied simply, spearing a rather large piece of broccoli with his chopsticks.

"I can feed myself," Blaine argued. Steve dropped the chopsticks back into the box and wrapped his arms around Blaine.

"I know," Steve repeated slowly, kissing Blaine's plaid-covered shoulder and resting his cheek there. "Please let me?"

Blaine nudged Steve's chin up with the back of his hand, blue eyes meeting his filled with sadness-sadness he had not seen since the early days of their relationship when Steve would quickly cover it up and Blaine would try so very hard to make him smile. Blaine slid the backs of his bandaged fingers along Steve's jaw and cheek, causing Steve's eyes to close and a sigh to escape his lips. Blaine ghosted gauze-covered fingertips over Steve's temple and brushed at the hair on his forehead.

"I'm not going anywhere," Blaine whispered, lips dragging against Steve's temple.

"You should," came the resigned reply, though the arms around Blaine tightened.

"Well, I'm not," Blaine countered.

When Steve remained silent, Blaine kissed his temple, the corner of his still closed eye, his cheek, and jaw. Blaine brushed his lips against Steve's, hovering so close but not close enough. Steve huffed at the tease, moving that last little distance so their lips pressed firmly together. Blaine smiled when Steve tilted his head, and kissed back when Steve's lips parted eagerly.

Blaine pulled away slowly, nipping at Steve's lower lip before tipping his forehead against Steve's. He blinked his eyes open, again ghosting his fingertips along Steve's hairline.

"You know," Blaine teased as he wrapped his arms around Steve's neck and pressed their cheeks together, "just because I can't play my guitar or the piano right now, doesn't mean I can't make music." Before Steve could respond, Blaine was singing softly in his ear.

_In this crazy life, and through these crazy times  
It's you, it's you,_

_You make me sing.  
You're every line, you're every word, you're every note._

Steve pressed his face against Blaine's shoulder, letting Blaine's smooth tenor calm him as it always did, and turned his head so his ear caught the deep reverberations in Blaine's chest.

_And you play it cool, but it's kinda cute.  
When you smile at me you know exactly what you do.  
Baby, don't pretend, that you don't know it's true.  
Cause you can see it when I look at you._

Steve couldn't stifle his chuckle at the words, and at Blaine's playful tug of his hair at the back of his neck. Blaine took up the slow, lilting melody again.

_You're a carousel, you're a wishing well,  
And you light me up, when you ring my bell.  
And I can't believe, that I'm your man,  
And I get to kiss you baby just because I can.  
_

Blaine pressed a sweet kiss to Steve's hair before tipping Steve's head up until their eyes met.

_And in this crazy life, and through these crazy times  
It's you, it's you,_

_You make me sing.  
You're every line, you're every word, you're every note._

The last words were spoken more than sung, and they hung between them for a long moment. Blaine had skipped some of the lyrics and changed others, knowing Steve would not know the song, but that didn't stop the words from wanting to come out, didn't stop Blaine from wanting to tell Steve he was everything. But from the little he had overheard, Blaine knew Steve would not be so easily convinced, especially right now.

Blaine broke eye contact first, reaching up and pressing a kiss to Steve's forehead.

"I'm not going anywhere, okay?"

Steve nodded, voice and breath caught in his lungs. Blaine pulled him back in, letting Steve settle his head in the space between neck and shoulder, and hold Blaine a little too tight.

...

"Can we eat now?" Blaine asked tentatively, though he could not contain the hint of teasing in his tone. Steve laughed, shifting so his forehead rested on Blaine's shoulder. He took a deep breath before lifting his head.

"Yes," Steve agreed, taking up the abandoned chopsticks. Blaine took the offered food, chewing and swallowing slowly as Steve watched him intently.

"We're not going to get a lot of eating done if you keep looking at me like that," Blaine commented.

Steve turned his attention back to the food, chagrined, and Blaine had to lean in to kiss his cheek before taking the bite Steve offered him. This time, Steve retrieved a bite for himself. They finished two of the boxes taking turns, and Blaine pulled another toward them. The noodles proved much more a challenge, and Steve had dropped more than reached their mouths by the time he frustratingly stabbed the chopsticks into the half-filled container.

"Don't be upset," Blaine advised as Steve frowned at the food. Steve looked at him, expecting Blaine's amused expression but rather spying Blaine's tongue licking along his lips. Steve surged forward, lips finding Blaine's quickly and tongue darting out to taste. Blaine's startled noise turned into a moan when Steve's tongue slipped between his lips and twined with his.

Steve licked at Blaine's teeth, nipped at his full lips, and teased Blaine's tongue into his mouth only to suck hungrily at the warm flesh. Blaine whimpered, hands gripping the arms that held him close and shifting on Steve's lap to press more fully against him, and felt the hardness under his thigh.

"Still hungry?" Steve asked breathlessly between kisses.

"Not for food," Blaine retorted, his own lips dragging across the stubble on Steve's cheek before retreating to Steve's mouth. Steve's hand slid down his back and over his hip, stopping when fabric gave way to the cool skin of Blaine's thigh. He slid his hand back up, under the plaid, and traced his fingers along the edge of Blaine's underwear, eliciting another whimper from Blaine followed by a pained gasp when his grip on Steve's shoulder tightened.

"What's wrong?" Steve asked, immediately pulling away. Blaine whined at the retreat, lips trailing kisses along Steve's jaw and hands fumbling for his. When Steve resisted, Blaine sighed and sat back. "Blaine?"

"My hands still hurt," Blaine revealed. Steve hummed understandingly and reached across the table for the two bottles of water he had set out with the food.

"Water and pills, then," Steve said.

"But-."

"No," Steve cut in, "Bruce said you were still dehydrated."

"I know, but we were-," Blaine trailed off, waving his hand between them.

"We're still going to do that."

"We are?" Blaine asked hopefully. Steve's lips twitched up in a small smile. Blaine smiled back and rested the back of his hand on Steve's jaw. "I missed that," he said fondly.

"I missed you," Steve tossed back. "And yes, we are." With that, Steve laid the two bottles in Blaine's lap and hauled him up, carrying him swiftly to the bedroom as Blaine yelped and laughed and held on.

...

"You are getting way too good at that," Blaine whispered, lifting his head to kiss Steve's hair.

"Practice makes perfect," Steve murmured. Quiet laughter rumbled in Blaine's chest and he wrapped a leg around Steve's thigh in an attempt to pull him closer. Steve sighed.

"Is it my turn?" Blaine asked idly after a long moment, shifting his hips and hearing Steve's sharp intake of air.

"Can we-," Steve trailed off, slipping his fingers across Blaine's bandages.

"Can we what?" Blaine prompted gently after a beat. Steve took a deep breath and lifted his head.

"I want you inside me," Steve confessed, eyes flickering away briefly before meeting Blaine's kind expression. "I want to know what it feels like, what you feel like."

Blaine slid his hand from Steve's grasp and caressed Steve's cheek, smiling when Steve's eyes closed with a sigh. Blaine craned his neck and pressed a light kiss to Steve's lips.

When he laid his head back down, Blaine earnestly said, "I don't know if I can right now, but I'd love that."

Steve's expression lightened, a smile tugging at his lips.

"I think you can." With that, Steve thrust his hips against Blaine's.

"Oh," Blaine gasped out, tipping his head back. Steve took a shuddery breath, pressing his forehead to Blaine's shoulder. "Okay, yeah," Blaine agreed breathlessly as arousal flared low in his abdomen.

...

Steve was silent save for the shuddery breaths, chest heaving and forehead still pressed to Blaine's shoulder. Blaine turned his head, kissing lazily at the arm still holding his and at Steve's hair.

"I'm not going anywhere," Blaine assured. Steve took in a shaky breath and lifted his head. Blue eyes, wet with unshed tears, met his. Blaine's heart clenched and he twisted his wrists out of Steve's hold. He cupped Steve's face with his gauze-wrapped hands and reached up to kiss him gently. With thumbs caressing cheeks, Blaine pulled back and looked at Steve as steadily as he could. He stifled the words on the edge of his tongue, battering against his brain to get out-words that seemed out of place after so little time together and would surely be dismissed given the events of the last 24 hours. Instead, he repeated, "I'm not going anywhere."

Steve blinked, then reached for the discarded t-shirt and carefully cleaned Blaine up. When he was done, he laid down beside Blaine, head resting on Blaine's chest while an arm wrapped securely around his abdomen. Blaine hooked his leg under Steve's and ran his hands lightly over Steve's back and arm.

"Steve?" Blaine prodded.

"I'm okay," came the quiet reply, though he curled his body closer around Blaine's. Steve took a deep breath then added, "I didn't know."

"Didn't know what?"

"That it could feel like this."

"Like what?"

"Like home."

...

A soft electronic beeping roused Blaine from sleep. He looked around, careful not to jostle Steve, whose head still rested on his chest and limbs remained atop Blaine, but found nothing that could make such a sound. Before he could reach for his phone to check the time, the beeping stopped.

"Good morning, Mr. Anderson. I apologize for waking you at such an early hour."

"Jarvis?" Blaine whispered, eyes scanning the room again. Despite his effort at quiet, Steve stirred.

Without lifting his head, Steve asked, "What is it Jarvis?"

"Mr. Stark requests your presence at breakfast. If, and I quote, 'You're not too tired from your nighttime activities.'"

"What time?" Steve inquired as Blaine retrieved his phone and lit the screen so both could see it-7:15.

"Eight o'clock."

"Thank you, Jarvis."

"Of course, sir."

"Jarvis?" Blaine spoke up.

"Yes, Mr. Anderson?"

"It's good to hear your voice."

"And yours as well, Blaine."

Steve nestled his head back on Blaine's shoulder, yawning. He traced fingers down Blaine's arm to ghost over the wrapped fingers loosely holding his cell atop his abdomen.

"Do they still hurt?" Steve asked.

Blaine hummed, flexing them under Steve's gentle touch.

"Not too much," Blaine answered. When Steve was silent, his fingers still ghosting over Blaine's hand and wrist, Blaine spoke up, "How old are you?"

Steve's fingers stilled and his whole body tensed. Blaine reached for him before he could retreat, soothing his own hands gently over the arm that still held him.

"Twenty-eight."

"And you've been twenty-eight since when?"

"Last year."

"No, I mean-," Blaine faltered, shaking his head. "I sound like Bella in Twilight here."

Steve lifted his head, confused, "I don't-."

"You weren't around when that started," Blaine murmured. "I'll explain it later," then asked, "how old are you exactly?"

"I'm twenty-eight, Blaine," Steve repeated with a hint of amusement.

"But you were around for World War II."

"I was," Steve confirmed. "And then I was frozen."

"For how long?"

"Seventy years."

"Did it hurt?"

"I-," Steve began, only to stop and think for a moment. "I don't really know. It hurt to wake up."

"Did you want to wake up?"

Steve's gaze flickered away from Blaine's.

"I don't know," he answered somberly.

"Steve." Blaine pressed his palm to Steve's jaw, urging the man's gaze back to his. Steve sighed at the gesture, closing his eyes briefly before letting the sadness and uncertainty that still plagued him give way to calm as Blaine's warmth soothed him. He laid his palm gently atop Blaine's hand, holding him there.

"I'm glad I did. I wasn't at first, but now I am."

...

They got out of bed slowly, both reluctant to leave the refuge, but they fell into an easy pattern of getting dressed and washing up. When Blaine finished, he watched Steve wipe the last of the shaving cream from his face. Steve sent him a side-glance and quirked an eyebrow in question.

"Why don't you stay here?"

"You mean, why do I stay in that tiny apartment in Brooklyn when I could have all the comforts right here?"

Blaine nodded. Steve hung his towel and set his shaver back on the shelf. He reached for Blaine's hand, careful to not hold on too tightly, and tugged Blaine out of the bedroom.

"I want to show you something," Steve offered as they made their way across the dim common area. Blaine remained silent, briefly squeezing Steve's hand in response.

Steve opened the front door with a wave of his hand across the panel and walked across the hall to another door. The lights immediately flicker on when the door opens and they step in, Blaine's eyes falling on the punching bags and various gym equipment scattered around the room. But Steve pulled him to the side, toward a corner holding a drafting desk and an easel, the warm light glowing overhead so different from the florescent lighting in the rest of the spacious room.

Steve stopped at the edge of the lighted area, watching Blaine carefully as he took everything in. Blaine distractedly slipped out of Steve's hold and stepped closer, eyes darting from the papers piled haphazardly atop the table to the charcoal and pastel pieces littering the edge and in the little hanging box at the bottom of the easel, the artfully drawn lines and smudges peeking out from the pile. But it's the large piece of paper hanging on the easel that made Blaine's breath catch-rough cream colored paper filled with sketches of him-him playing the piano at the bar, him sleeping, his smile-all unfinished but no less stunning in their detail and realism.

"This is who I was before," Steve said softly, coming up behind Blaine. "Stark Tower, all this technology, they remind me what I am now. My place, the old neighborhood, even though it's different, reminds me what I was."

Blaine looked back at Steve, took in the wistful and regretful look on the other man's face.

"Do you miss him, the old you?" Blaine asked hesitantly.

"Sometimes," Steve answered honestly. Blaine turned, laying his hands over Steve's chest. Steve's arms naturally wrapped around Blaine's torso.

"He's still in there."

"Maybe."

"As long as you remember him, he's in there." Blaine tapped his finger over Steve's heart for emphasis. "And I'd really like to get to know him just as much as I know you."

Steve let out a breath, one he had not realized he was holding. He leaned down, kissing Blaine tenderly, only to deepen the kiss when Blaine wrapped his arms around his neck and pulled them closer together.

Blaine pulled away reluctantly, giving a last quick kiss when Steve made a sound of protest.

"We should get to breakfast," Blaine advised with an understanding smile. Steve sighed but let go of Blaine, only to find his hand again as they headed out of the room and toward Tony's private dining room.

"What, you fit in a morning quickie?" greeted Tony upon Blaine and Steve's entrance. Bruce sat next to him, cup of coffee in hand and full plate in front of him. He rolled his eyes at Tony's words and Blaine had to stifle his smirk. Steve gave Tony a hard look, which he returned with an innocent one.

"Just one?" Blaine insinuated.

Tony turned to him, surprised, "Oh, really?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Blaine snarked back.

Tony chuckled, waving his fork, and quipped, "I like you again, shortstack."

Bruce's hand disappeared under the table and Tony jumped.

"Ow," Tony griped, rubbing his side.

"Behave," Bruce directed. With a smirk, Bruce lifted his hand, holding what looked like a silver pen but when he pressed a tiny button, a spark flashed. Blaine didn't bother hiding his amusement this time.

"I thought we agreed you wouldn't use that thing anymore."

"You agreed. I didn't."

"It's been more than a year since I tried that. And it was just a pen."

"You should know better than to annoy a hulk. And a scientist."

"Yeah, yeah," Tony muttered. He waved his fork again, this time to the table behind him. "Help yourself."

Steve shook his head at the exchange, though his lips twitched up when he and Blaine exchanged a look. They filled their plates and sat down.

"How's Pepper?" Blaine asked.

"She's recovering nicely," Bruce supplied. "Still in the infirmary for another day or so though."

"And she's already complaining about all the work not getting done in her absence," Tony grumped, though his lips curled into a soft smile.

"I'm sure she'll get everything back in order in no time," Blaine commented.

"She's determined to be up to full speed in two weeks."

"What's in two weeks?"

"We're hosting a benefit. A thousand dollars a head. It's all very elaborate and pretentious," Tony said glibly. "You should come."

Blaine hesitated, looking down at his plate before answering, "I can't afford that."

"No worries, you can be my guest."

"Stark," Steve warned.

"I couldn't take a seat from a potential donor," Blaine protested.

"Steve's coming, aren't you? I sent you a memo. Come together. Or better yet, play for us. You can be the entertainment."

"Stark," Steve prompted again, this time glaring at the other man.

"No, seriously, think of it as a gig. Play for an hour then enjoy the rest of the night. We'll pay you."

"You must already have someone."

"We'll cancel. Come play for us."

"I-."

"You'll get that Lafitte-Rothschild," Tony cut in. When Blaine looked unconvinced, Tony added, "Pepper would love it."

Blaine looked at Steve, finding annoyance as well as adoration and something else Blaine could not name. He took a deep breath and turned back to Tony.

"I'll do it."

...

"Steve?" Blaine called out as the door slid shut behind him. He set his guitar case and bag by the dining room table, flexing his fingers with a wince. He'd just come from sound check and rehearsal with the band, just come from playing the piano and guitar for more time than he'd done since the alien attack and his fingers, though healed, were still sensitive. Steve had protested last week when Blaine had tentatively plucked at his guitar strings with still wrapped fingers, brokenly playing a simple melody as tears welled in his eyes. But Blaine had insisted it would be fine, had insisted that he would play mostly the piano at the benefit, which would be easier on his still healing hands. Steve had relented, albeit reluctantly.

"In here," Steve's muffled voice reached Blaine's ears. Blaine made his way into the bedroom, and to the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe. Steve combed his hair, dressed only in boxers, his skin damp from a recent shower. Blaine stared, not caring to hide his admiration of Steve's broad chest and strong shoulders, the way the muscles in his arms moved or how his abdomen tightened under his gaze.

When Blaine's gaze returned to Steve's face, arousal and embarrassment glinted in equal measure in the bright blue eyes, along with curiosity.

"I like watching you," Blaine said simply.

Steve huffed a chuckle and resumed his task.

"That's usually my line," Steve noted.

"Well, you are the Jack to my Rose."

"Who?"

Blaine laughed, saying amusedly, "One of these days, I'm going to sit you down and we're going to watch every pivotal movie from the last six decades."

"That could take a while," Steve said with a shake of his head.

Blaine stepped up behind Steve, going up on his toes, hooking his chin over Steve's shoulder, and wrapping his arms around Steve's chest.

"I don't mind," Blaine returned with a smile on his face. Steve squeezed the hand resting over his heart and Blaine pressed his lips to the warm skin of Steve's neck before withdrawing to get ready for the benefit.

...

Showered, shaved, and coiffed, Blaine headed for the closet, where he had hung his suit the night before. However, when he entered the small room, he stopped short. Steve stood in front of the mirror, tugging uncomfortably at the collar and cuffs of his tan military uniform as if it did not fit despite the fact that the tailoring followed every curve perfectly from his shoulders to his thighs.

Steve turned his head, the miserable look spurring Blaine to action. He moved closer, lifting his hands to tug at the lapels and smooth the collar. Steve's hands settled on Blaine's hips.

"I didn't know you were going to wear this," Blaine said, fingers flitting over the various pins as he took in the symbols and insignias for the first time.

"Tony thought it was a good idea," Steve huffed out.

"Do you not like it?"

"It's not that," Steve said with a shake of his head.

"Then what?"

Steve didn't answer, instead tipped his head so his forehead rested against Blaine's shoulder. Blaine soothed his hands over Steve's tense shoulders.

"Hey," Blaine said softly, rubbing his cheek against Steve's. "It's who you were before. And it's part of who you are now. It's okay to miss it or regret it, or not want to think about it."

Steve lifted his head, adoration and gratitude clear on his face.

"How do you do that?" Steve marveled.

"Do what?"

"Know what I'm thinking."

"Because I know you."

...

Steve and Blaine arrived downstairs just as the benefit began, and Blaine slipped away with a squeeze of Steve's hand. Steve hovered awkwardly around the edges of the large ballroom, the crowd growing and the din of conversation increasing. But no amount of noise could distract him from the sound coming from the stage-the melodious notes of the piano and thrum of a bass, the occasional snare or the soft dinging of a cymbal, and the sonorous tenor coming from the young man behind the piano. His eyes remained on Blaine, eyes closed and bowtie askew as he felt every word he sang, much like how Steve had first seen Blaine in the bar only a couple months ago.

"He's something else," Pepper said, stopping at Steve's side. She handed him a wine glass, which he took with a nod of thanks.

"That he is," Steve affirmed.

"You're lucky to have him."

"I am."

A gentle hand on his arm had Steve looking down at the woman. She smiled.

"He's lucky too."

Steve's gaze flickered to Blaine, the song ending to a smattering of applause. Pepper looped her arm through Steve's.

"Come on, dinner's about to be served."

Steve, along with Blaine, sat with the rest of the Avengers-Tony shooting glib remarks left and right, Pepper pleased but still looking a touch tired, Natasha stunning in floor-length red, and Clint and Bruce looking uncomfortable in their suits but still in high spirits.

The benefit seemed a success, if the cheerful conversation and laughter filling the room were any indication. Bidding on the live auction items was enthusiastic and the emcee announced that they had reached their goal of $100,000 at the close of the proceedings. Dessert was served and Blaine returned to the small stage for a few more songs before the evening ended. Steve sat back, watching Natasha dance with Bruce and Clint in turns, and Tony shifting his chair and coaxing Pepper to lean against him in a rare display of care.

His attention was drawn back to the stage when Blaine spoke up.

"Thank you for a wonderful evening. It's been a pleasure." Blaine paused as polite applause sounded. "This is my last song for the night, and I'd like to dedicate it to someone special."

Steve's gaze flickered to the table, ignoring Tony's smirk and Pepper's sentimental smile. As the clear melody began, Steve could not resist looking back up.

_Everybody wants to find a love,  
somebody, somebody who will always care.  
But we get locked up in our own worlds,  
with feelings and secrets we're afraid to share._

_But all I have to do is see you smile,  
or maybe, just maybe if I brush your hand;  
something happens I cannot explain,  
and somehow, oh somehow I can understand.  
_

Despite the distance, Steve was sure Blaine was looking at him, singing only for him. Steve was transfixed, as he always was when Blaine sang, but more than ever before. He felt his heart beat in time to the slow melody, felt the world disappear and his breathing slow as Blaine's voice lulled him into comfort and security, and love.

When the song ended, Steve merely sat there, lost and yet feeling as if he had just been found. Rousing applause shook him out of his reverie, and when he looked back at the stage, Blaine was gone. Steve stood as the band took up another song, a slow but cheerful tune that led many in the crowd to say their farewells. A few couples took to the floor. Tony and Pepper stood to do their duty, leaving Steve to scan the room. He let out a breath when Blaine appeared, walking quickly over to him. Blaine stopped in front of him, a hand extended and a tentative smile on his lips.

"Dance with me?"

Steve took the offered hand easily, and Blaine's smile widened. They made their way to the dance floor and Blaine was quick to set his hand on Steve's shoulder, leaving the other man to settle his hand at Blaine's waist.

"I'm out of practice," Steve prefaced before looking down at his feet and leading Blaine in a simple waltz. They shuffled awkwardly for a few steps, but fell into a rhythm soon enough. Blaine laughed, still smiling. Steve sighed contentedly when Blaine slid his hand up to his neck, fingers sliding through the hair at his nape.

"I didn't get to say earlier, you look amazing," Blaine complimented. Steve looked at Blaine then, watched the emotions flashing bright in Blaine's eyes. He leaned in and kissed Blaine's forehead then.

"I love you," he said reverently, lips brushing warm against Blaine's skin. Blaine's fingers tightened in his hold and at his neck as he tipped his head up. Reaching up, he kissed Steve hard, slanting his lips to press closer and parting his lips to suck hungrily at Steve's tongue and lip. Blaine dropped all pretenses of dancing and wrapped his arms around Steve's neck, sighing into the kiss when Steve did the same around his waist, lifting him so his toes barely touched the floor.

When they parted, breathless, Blaine murmured against Steve's lips, "Love you too. So much."

Steve pulled back, a rare smile gracing his lips and Blaine beamed back. Another song started up, and Steve loosened his hold just so Blaine found his footing again. They slowly shuffled in their little spot of dance floor, unaware of anything around them. Blaine hummed and sang snippets of lyrics into Steve's ear and Steve, content and calm, closed his eyes and reveled in the warmth and safety he felt in Blaine's embrace.

...

They made their way back up to Steve's apartment much later, having danced until they were the last couple on the floor only to be joined by Tony and Pepper, followed shortly by Natasha, Bruce, and Clint.

Blaine had crowded close to Steve in the elevator, planting lazy kisses on Steve's jaw and flicking his tongue along the shell of Steve's ear until Steve was gripping tight to Blaine's hips and dragging him into a desperate kiss.

They exchanged heated kisses along the way, making their journey to the privacy of Steve's bedroom much longer as Steve would push Blaine against the wall of the hallway when Blaine teased his tongue along the edge of his uniform collar or Blaine nearly collapsed under the flaring arousal as Steve rubbed his palm over his clothed and growing erection.

Steve gave a frustrated growl as Blaine wickedly thrust his hips against his as they stumbled into the front door, and swung Blaine into his arms. Blaine giggled and continued to kiss and suck at the skin along the column of Steve's neck, belatedly realizing that Steve had stopped by the bedside.

"What?" Blaine asked idly, laving delicately at the now reddened skin as Steve slowly set him down.

"It's the Lafitte-Rothschild," Steve answered.

"The wine?" Blaine turned his head to look down at the little table, large wine bottle set off to the side and two glasses beside it.

"Yes, and it's the 3-liter."

"Tony," Blaine said simply.

"Stark," Steve confirmed. Blaine looked at Steve's stern expression and burst out laughing. With mock indignation, Steve reached for Blaine and kissed him silent. The kiss turned into several, each one more wanton than the last. Clothes fell to the floor and the two tumbled onto the bed.

They never got around to opening the wine that night.


End file.
